Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  When I sighed, Marcus pulled me closer, shifting to press a kiss to my crown.

  “Was that a happy sigh or a worried one?”

  “Happy,” I answered.

  “Good.”

  The unspoken reason he’d asked materialized over us like a squall, dark and thundering and posed to soak our happiness with its haul. Because today, I would face the music.

  I’d spent another large part of those three days digging around with Jess’s help, looking for proof to lay upon my mother—my best chance at forcing her hand. Three days hoping I could find a way out of this without being the one to doom her, though Marcus impatiently supported the decision. He had spent those three days impressing—arguing—his points, and we’d discussed it endlessly. Though I knew what I needed to do, we seemed to have the same conversation over and over, agreeing but disagreeing. I’d come to hate the very mention of it, and if there was one thing I was glad to do today, it was to move forward, if for nothing more than to put the argument between Marcus and me to rest.

  He believed with vehement conviction that I shouldn’t inform my mother that I knew, nor did he believe her behavior warranted an opportunity at heroism. But I couldn’t admit the truth—I was a coward for not readily condemning my mother. Beyond all choice or judgment, in the deepest and most instinctive way, I loved and wanted approval from her, a compulsion programmed into me from birth. The thought of being the instrument of her downfall felt wrong on all levels.

  I would do it, if I had to. But I’d lay out my proof and let her make a choice in the hopes that if she had no other affection for me, she would at least do this to absolve me. It was a foolish and innocent hope. But it was the only way I could live with myself, my final extension of respect and care for my mother.

  “Do you think there’s any way to be ready for a thing like this?” I asked, memorizing the sight of my hand resting on the swell of his chest.

  “No, I don’t. There are too many variables, too many outcomes, especially when dealing with your mother. I can honestly say I have no idea what she’ll do.”

  “Neither do I. I know she won’t be happy, particularly with my giving her an ultimatum.”

  My hand rose and fell with his sigh.

  “Maisie, I swear, if this somehow comes back on you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “For what? Marcus, I love you, but this is not your decision to make.”

  “Where your happiness and safety are concerned, in many ways it is. There’s more I could do to stop you, but I won’t. I only hope I don’t regret it.”

  “I’ve been controlled enough in my life,” I said darkly. “Please, don’t you start too.”

  Another sigh, the stroke of his hand on my bare arm. “I’d take a bullet for you. And right now, your mother feels like a round of twenty-twos.”

  “My mother says she wants to protect me too.”

  He shifted, leaning so he could look at me, disturbing my resting place so I had to meet his eyes. “I’d like to think this is a little different.”

  “It is,” I conceded. “But every once in a while it doesn’t feel like it.”

  Marcus didn’t get angry, only sad. “I hope you know that’s the last thing I want, for you to feel that way.”

  “I know.” I stretched to give him a kiss. “Now, let’s get out of bed so I can get this over with.”

  “I was thinking tonight we should stay in. Order Chinese. Watch movies, read—whatever you want.”

  “Bubble bath too?”

  “Text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll draw one up for you.”

  “For us, if you please,” I added with a smile.

  He mirrored it. “Something we can both look forward to.”

  With a chuckle and another kiss, we peeled ourselves apart and rolled out of bed.

  My happiness faded with every step that brought me closer to facing my mother. By the time I was brushing my teeth, I was unable to smile. By the time I stood in the entry with Marcus to say goodbye, I was pulled tight as a bowstring. But I drew myself up to do what needed to be done and walked out that door, hoping it would be over soon.

  It was one of the longer half hours of my life. Traffic was a mess, the cab crawling toward Midtown at a speed that ratcheted my anxiety to unbearable heights. I should have taken the subway, given my brain and body something to do. Instead, I sat in that taxi and obsessed over what I was about to walk into.

  The day was cheerful by appearance, the sun out and clouds absent. And when I finally made it to the building and stepped out of the cab, warmth greeted me, the promise of summer on its wings.

  But all I could do was sweat.

  In I went, past the front desk, ignoring the eyes tracking me. She’d know I was here—honestly, I was half surprised not to have been greeted by security to escort me right back out. But she let me pass, let me get onto the elevator. She allowed me to enter her space, a silent, sanctioned invitation to bring it on.

  That challenge lit a fire in me. Because for once, I held the cards. And my guilt faded, replaced by sheer determination to force her hand.

  Shelby was pallid behind her desk but unsurprised to see me. She rose, saying nothing as she opened my mother’s office doors.

  And there was the queen herself.

  Mother sat behind her desk, the very picture of power and control. She wasn’t tense, though she wasn’t relaxed, only a shrewd and stately statue, somehow looking down at me even though she was seated.

  Her eyes flicked to the door, and she nodded. The click as the doors closed was the only sound in the room.

  “I believe I told you not to come back here, Margaret.”

  “And yet you so graciously granted me entrance.”

  “Only because I assume you’re here to denounce them or beg. Both, if I’m fortunate.”

  “I hate to disappoint—”

  “Do you?” The words were a lance.

  I approached her desk but didn’t sit. I didn’t know why. Perhaps some instinct to prepare to escape should she put me in danger.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I wanted to give you a chance to do the right thing.”

  A merciless laugh burst out of her. “And what, accept your disloyalty?”

  “No. To admit yours.”

  Her savage smile faded. “Regarding the Bennets? You must be joking.”

  “I know that you’ve been stealing.”

  I realized I’d never truly shocked her, not until that moment. “What?” The word was barely a whisper.

  “You’ve been stealing from Bower. Through my charity.”

  Her mask slammed back in place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this some sort of grab to try to reclaim your place?”

  “I don’t want my place, not if it’s under your command. And I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Now that I know, I’m obligated to act. But before I go to the authorities, I wanted to give you a chance to turn yourself in.”

  The color drained from her face, her eyes so cool, they were nearly colorless. “Whatever you think you know—”

  “Will you really deny it?” I shot. “Even now, even with me standing here with the truth, you would still lie?” I shook my head, pulling the financial papers out of my bag. “Maybe I should have listened to Marcus after all.” I dropped the folder on her desk with a snick.

  But she didn’t see it for the blood red that overcame her.

  A long, hot breath, and she detonated like a warhead. “You told him? You told a Bennet—Marcus Bennet—that I was an embezzler? You foolish child. If you think he hasn’t already exposed us, you’re an imbecile. Have you any idea what you’ve done?” She rose, trembling with fury and fear. “You are so sanctimonious, so quick to trust them. But they’re liars and deceivers, and they will abandon you the moment they find a way to save their own necks. And you, my stupid, foolish child, have handed them the means to destroy us all.”

  A furious rush of denial rip
ped me open, tore me apart. “You’d villainize the Bennets, and for what? To make yourself the hero in your story? It’s you who have stolen. It’s you who have lied. And now it’s you who will come clean, or I’ll do it for you. I have no choice, Mother. You’ve taken enough from me. I won’t go to jail for you too.”

  “You’ll ruin us. You’ll ruin everything,” she snarled. “I have this under control. I’m fixing it. All of this is temporary, a means to an end. And when it’s done, no one will ever know. So tell me, Margaret—what is your price? What will it take for you to bury this forever? Shall I invite the Bennet bastards over for dinner? Would you like a dozen of your stupid little charities to fawn over? Money? A title? Name it, and it’s yours.”

  “The things I want, you’ve never been able to give me.” My throat jammed with emotion. “I want nothing from you right now but to be through with all of this. You have forty-eight hours to turn yourself in before I do it for you.”

  It was only a breath or two, but it felt like an eternity. She watched me with such hatred at my treachery, her hands flexed at her sides, her body sprung so tight, I braced myself for impact should she launch herself at me.

  But the tension snapped when noise rose from beyond her office doors.

  Voices boomed amid the scrambling sound of people moving. Footfalls and clinking metal murmured beneath commands that came closer. And we turned to face the noise just as those doors opened with such force, we stepped back.

  It was chaos in a sea of black, of helmets and guns, of bulletproof vests stamped with the letters F, B, and I. Everyone spoke at once, but one faceless voice rose above the others with a command for my mother to put up her hands. That voice stated her crimes, read Mother her rights as officers handcuffed her. Someone moved me out of the way, ushering me toward the door where Roland and Shelby were being escorted out, tears staining her cheeks and her hands bound. The open office was a tangle of agents, some standing sentinel, guns in hand as they eyed the executives filing toward the boardroom. The rest swept the space with carts, confiscating computers. And I passed by, my elbow in the massive hand of an FBI agent as he guided me to another of the boardrooms, taking my things before he left me there alone.

  I heard her approach as they led her out, her voice shrill with panic and thick with threat, the pitch rising when she saw me through the boardroom windows. Teeth bared, she thrashed in my direction, the agents at her sides subduing her quickly as they passed.

  Quieter came her voice with every step.

  And in the end, there was only silence.

  I sat in that room, crazed and shaken, my thoughts coming in bursts and frenzies and circles.

  I had done this.

  I had done this to her.

  Somehow, this was all my fault.

  And my mother had put me here. My mother had been the architect of it all.

  I hated her in that moment with the whole of me, with a boiling of blood and a trembling vent of steam in my lungs. I could feel that hatred sink into me with a sigh, with hooks that held fast, hungry after being kept out so long by the virtue I’d upheld with the tenacity of Atlas shouldering the world.

  Rather than shrink from that feeling, I grew inside of it, expanded and consumed within its hot walls. I hated myself. I hated the entire fucking universe and every atom in it.

  I hated everything except Marcus.

  Tears rolled down stony cheeks that belonged to someone else, hot as the betrayal in my heart.

  I needed Marcus. And I was lost. Something had to be done, but I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how to feel or what to think except for one undeniable truth: Marcus would understand. He would make sense of it all.

  He would know exactly what to do.

  He would make this somehow feel all right.

  Somehow.

  25

  Shadow self

  MARCUS

  “Oh my fucking God,” Laney called as she ran into the kitchen.

  “Elaine,” Mom snapped. “Never utter that phrase.”

  Laney was ghostly pale, and I leaned in, instantly alert.

  “What happened?” I asked, setting my newspaper down.

  “This,” she muttered, shoving her phone in my direction.

  My hands went numb and clumsy as I took it, my eyes locking on the photograph, then the headline.

  “Evelyn Bower Arrested for Suspected Embezzlement."

  The photograph was as unflattering as expected—her face wrenched and mouth open as if arguing. I scrolled, skimming for details, looking for Maisie’s name, but only cursory information was given regarding the arrest. There were a few more photos, one of her assistant and another of her accountant per the caption as they were all put into marked cars and driven away.

  “What?” Mom asked. “What is it, Marcus?”

  But I couldn’t speak. I handed her Laney’s phone and swept mine out of my pocket to call Maisie.

  “Marcus,” she answered on the first ring.

  “Are you all right? What happened? I saw on the news—”

  “I’m all right.” Her voice quivered.

  I couldn’t tell what she felt, but it certainly didn’t feel all right.

  “Where are you?”

  “Nearly to your house. I need to talk to you.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  She took a breath but said nothing. The line disconnected.

  An alarm sounded in my heart.

  I stood, my worry a fine point. “She’s on her way.”

  My mother’s hand was over her lips as she read. “Oh, that poor girl. Go, Marcus. Go take care of her.”

  Laney nodded, her brows knit and eyes sharp with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “Me too,” I said as I passed, hurrying for my apartment.

  I made it inside, poured myself a scotch, stood in the silence of my kitchen and sipped as I waited. Waited and worried and wondered until she walked through the door.

  I moved to meet her, but she flew in before I could.

  Broken. Everything about her was broken, from the curve of her shoulders from the weight of it all to the twist of her face when she burst into tears the moment our eyes met.

  She was in my arms before I knew I’d moved to meet her, sagging against me, body shaking as the sound of her sorrow filled the room, filled my vengeful heart with wild fury at the witnessing of her pain.

  I was glad Evelyn Bower had been arrested. God knew what I’d have done if she hadn’t been.

  It was a long time before the wave had subsided, and I held her until she pulled away.

  I cupped her face, felt the fever of her cheek with my palm. “It’s going to be all right,” I promised.

  But her brows drew together. “Nothing’s going to be all right, Marcus.” Her voice was rough, raw from crying. “Nothing.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “I’m sorry, Maisie. Tell me what happened.”

  And with trembling words, she did. We moved to the couch as she recounted her mother’s arrest, the army of FBI, the questioning she’d endured, the lack of information they’d given her. And then she quieted, her eyes on her hands as they twisted a tissue, wringing it and loosing it so she could wring it again.

  My fury never abated. It only grew.

  I wished I could wipe this away. I wished there was something I could do, something I could have done. Because I would have done anything to spare her this final, most heinous infliction of pain. And it was all by her mother’s hand.

  “They dragged her away,” she said quietly, winding the tissue up. “Th-they had guns, and she was screaming at me …” She watched the tissue open up, wrinkled and thin, but still whole. “They took her away. She’s gone.”

  My hands squeezed into fists and released. “Good.” It was a flat, furious word, a damning verdict.

  She drew a sharp breath that jerked her away from me like she’d been hit. “Good? Nothing about this is good, Marcus.”

  “She did this,” I said through my teeth. �
��She did this to you, and she deserves what she had coming.”

  For a handful of heartbeats, she watched me in confusion, still as a sculpture. And something dawned on her, something that etched betrayal into her very soul.

  “Was it you?” she breathed. “I didn’t believe her when she said it was you who made the call, but who else could it have been? Only five people knew. Three of them were just arrested. One is me. Which only leaves you. Did you do it? Did you do this?”

  Cold disbelief settled over me, both quieting my senses and sharpening them. “Excuse me?”

  “The media was there—someone told them too. Someone knew. Someone told the police, and someone told the press. And I don’t know who it could have been but you.”

  “You … you think that I would do this? That I’d betray you? That I’d go against your wishes?”

  “You didn’t think I’d make the call, so you did it yourself.” Everything about her stiffened, her body winding tighter than the tissue that fell to the ground as she stood. “It was you.”

  “Maisie,” I started as I rose, reaching for her in the hopes that I could soothe her, “please, come here. Take a breath—”

  She jerked away before I could touch her. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, Marcus. She said you were a liar, that you’d do this. I didn’t want to believe it. But this solves all your problems, doesn’t it?” A humorless laugh choked into a sob. “All this time, you were trying to convince me to tattle on her, but did you want to protect me or yourself?”

  It was my turn to pull back from the sting. “Now, wait a goddamn minute, Maisie—”

  “No, I will not wait.” The smallness she’d carried fell away like a shell as she expanded, bursting into flame like a phoenix. “If I wouldn’t do it myself, and if my ultimatum had even the slightest chance to fail, you could head it off with a single phone call. Your family, your business would be saved.” She drew a fiery breath. “I cannot believe you would do this. I cannot believe you would manipulate me like she would. Even if you did this for me, it wasn’t your call to make. Protecting me wasn’t your job, and neither was sending my mother to prison.”